[Repost] How everything’s changed

One of the most interesting feelings that I have experienced is fear, fear of the unknown to be precise. Not know what will happen next, who the next person you meet could be to you in the future, the words I say what will they determine… Sometimes as I am clicking on this keyboard like I am making music on an invisible piano, I just wonder “What if you are the one?”

Two years ago I could have never guessed how far apart we could be.

There even seems to be a stream of thoughts that pulls us apart.

“Where are you now?”

Wondering down the memory lane and hope to bump into you. Wouldn’t that be a wonder? You would catch me typing a message only to delete it again… Type and delete. Type and delete. Maybe you will finally say, “I am doing well…” and we can take it from there. That is highly unlikely as you are typing on other peoples profiles and I can’t blame you as I am doing the same. Fear has gripped me though. I miss the days when you would just know when I was upset, when I needed a R100, when I could “borrow” your clothes and keep them forever. Now, everything has changed you know. I wonder if we both had daughters would that help. Maybe they would be friends and somehow we would find the way to each other. Or better yet, weave bed time stories that warn them about losing a friend in our early twenties so they make better choices.

My mother used to tell us this one story about being weary marrying foreign men. Its not like that trick ever worked, the first guy I ever dated was Congolese and he was great — he might have been emotionally unstable but he was a nice person to have around. To be honest, I never understood that guy’s mindset. I remember him packing up to go for a       “short visit” 8 years ago promising to come back after the festive season. Just goes to show, I should have listened to my mother since they seem to always know best. He was a good person though nonetheless. He was this skinny guy with a French accent, who liked light skinned girls. I remember when he told me about another girl he had dated, when I looked her up online I could hardly get over how we were so similar. High cheekbones, plump lips like a fully grown peaches  ready to fall off the twig… I guess that was his preference.  He was my first real boyfriend, godly boyfriend.

What is funny is that after that incidence I got over “godly boyfriends“, you know the ones you meet at church who have Jesus at the center and I just thought a guy is just a guy hey. If I am not godly how can I be looking for a godly person? Naturally, the poor lad could never stand a chance.

But when I took a step back I started to think:

“Why am I even on this path?” 

“Am I okay?”

Of course there is that longing that comes around whenever I see some IG captions and those songs about wearing someone’s t shirt and desire to be held etc… But when those feelings go away I also start to think… Why in the world did I want that? I guess what I am trying to figure out is whether I will ever be content with this feeling?

I know someone who is. What I can’t quite get past is the loss of my best friend. Its quite strange, probably because she is the last person I described this one person to and I can’t quite remember what I said and thus I would like her to come back to her senses so we can talk again. You can’t really make someone talk to you hey. They can respond to your messages but you can’t make them talk like they used to, like pour out their soul into your heart. I can’t do that either, so you hope that one day you can strike up a convo with another girl and they’ll just perfect for that day.






#TBT When I wrote an Emo Poem


“I sometimes wonder how it will ever be possible for us to be heaven together.

Would the angels let me in or will you come to the door when St. Peter tries to keep me out?

In my many sombre nights alone, I spent many days wondering how far you where and whethere I was waiting in the right place. Did I read the directions wrong or had you come back already. How could you die?

You said that the one who believes will never taste death and yet, there you lay in a cold coffin tucked away in a smart suit. What must I do now. I am only but a child. So I will wait.

I am waiting at this dark alley, I think to take my life now but you said hell awaits those who commit suicide so I will drag my feet back to bed and dream of a better time in our lives.

Who are these people and what do they want from me. I am a believer too but not as much. How can we keep coming here to cry each Sunday ceaselessly. Does He even hear your prayers and please for help.

I will go to my bedside and read Romans and maybe a bit of the Psalms so ease the longing. One boyfriend another trip down memory lane. Wondering how much longer when I was the one who made you wait.

You washed me clean and gave me something to look forward to.”

  • written 30 September



28: Time for some responsibility.

I have finally accepted that I am 28 now so I am considering adopting a puppy.

When I was around 13/ 14 years I kinda hoped that I would be stable enough to keep and raise one when I got older. I feel older now. A few years ago one of my neighbours had a dog that spent 90% of its time over at my place so I pretended it was mine until it gave birth to 6 puppies on a cold, windy night. I saw those golden brown beauties once then the next day, I woke to a bloody stoep. The neighbour said our dog ate her babies because she did not seem to believe they would survive. Honestly, I could never look at the dog with the same eyes again. Is that love though or did the dog take all those Vampire Diaries episodes we watched together to heart?

I am all about love and things like that so I am finally over the shock.

There are many things to consider though.


  1. I have never taken care of another life before
  2. The lease does not allow for animals
  3. I live in two cities.

In any case, I should be interesting. In the vision I had when I was a teen, I got a puppy then moved to a small cottage and I was a millionaire that sent cheques to a small village in Africa. I am already in Africa, I guess the storyline was a bit off but I can work with this!


On being wanted, protected and cared for

When I was a bit younger I had this one reoccurring dream where I would completely be isolated from the world and its people. I just wanted space all the time to such an extent that one of my favourite pastimes was climbing up the biggest tree I could find with a book under my one arm, and a packet with a trail snacks and a bottle of water in the other. I would sit there till the day become chilly, and the sun set turned the sky purple. I would read books about other girls who wanted to change the world and actually did it. I really liked The Little Mermaid! Through this I too could imagine myself becoming more than a small township girl with broken, oversized clothes.

Sidenote: It’s not an exaggeration to say that majority of my friendbase as a kid where mostly Disney princesses.

Nowadays I honestly feel like there is just too much hurt in the world. There is no day when I can pick up the paper or go through a social feed without seeing violence or a story of rape. I wonder which girl could ever endure that and when will it ever stop. Are we powerless, or I am too busy with my own life to see the injustices happening around me?

I can still remember the small me who wanted peace and quiet, nowadays she just knows she cannot have peace just for herself but every girl wants that. We want to be wanted, protected and cared for. I think knowing that these three are existing in your life allows a young girl (or boy) to flourish and dream outside her current reality.

Tell me, what could ever hold you back if you know you are wanted, protected and cared for? Nothing.




I can be witty.
I can be as calm as a cucumber but I can never be peaceful on the inside and that is what writing helps me with – being peaceful. It is an outlet for all the emotions crammed in my 15-inch heart. Growing up I would keep things stored inside of me because I feared that once I shared them with others I may never get them back, but little did I know that was actually the whole point. Who wants to harbour negative stories anyway, so let me tell you this one first…

When I was about 21 I “temporarily” moved into a shared house in Woodstock, Cape Town.

There were about four rooms, one kitchen, a matchbox-sized sitting room area and two bathrooms.

I retrospect I think I may have overstayed my welcome time there primarily due to those bathrooms. The shower heads were like the Victoria Falls, even though I was surrounded by filth they always did a good job cleaning a girl up. Some days I would sit under the running water with my kinky hair tied into Bantu knots and let the tears flow down into the drain hole. The house was old, had some fuzzy historic background and the management was very, very strange. I recall the owner’s granddaughter so vividly. She had so many problems that compared to her I came off as a saint. She did not like her raven black curly hair so in the night she would spend at least two hours straightening it and the smell of singed hair would fill the whole room like flood. I could never understand it.

How come she did not enjoy washing her hair like I did?

Anyway, as I was saying, the room had about 6 bunk beds, all unstable so when one person tossed and turned one two many times, we all moved with her. The glossy floorboards were broken so whatever you dropped you could count as swallowed up by the earth. I remember this one day I only had R6 for taxi fare and one coin fell into those holes, I ended up not going to college. I was so bleak.

The windows croaked on windy nights which was almost every night because the house was stationed on top of a hill overlooking the seaside. Each morning I would undo the plastic strips used to tie the hinges together, let the cool breeze in and watch ship making their way to the dock longing to hear the fisherman’s stories about being at sea.


My late father spent his early 30s in Woodstock, Cape Town so you can imagine my near elated feeling when I was overlooking the dock. I could see what he saw and possibly enjoy the sounds that once travelled through his ears. I always liked that thought.

I stayed in that house for about 2 years learning people and their behaviour trying to find one that matched my own. It is quite bizarre now that I think about it – searching for your own identity amid the most broken. I could never imagine myself as broken so I thought I wanted to make a change within those people but little did I know I was piercing myself with their double-edged stories. No wonder I hate suspense movies.

Having lived in many other spaces, with fewer people, I realized a few things about personal space.

In most areas, you find that there is no such thing as personal space, a good example is shacks.  I hate shacks. In a shack an average of 5 people could be residing in that space and it’s all good until you realize it isn’t. It is not okay to live without proper sanitation, to live in fear due to crime within the depths of poverty. Even though my words lack a lot, I always hoped to share my experiences to others, in turn rid my heart of things I never want to see again like that house.

Okay, that’s one story down.
Next time I will tell you about the time I slept on the street.

Living on a memory


Death took you as a hostage and I have longed for you ever since. Could we ever find you in the sea of souls coming down from heaven?

Will you look younger than I remember, or will your brittle beard remain like thatched straw on your face? It used to sting my small face but I still came looking for your embrace.


What about the two  loose teeth– surely twenty years was enough time to fix them up.

Oh, where can I wait for you?

I am thinking of leaving the city to find where I buried the rest of our memories just to have a clearer memory of you. I saw some scattered in our backyard where you used to sit next to an ice-cold Coke and another in the pockets of my soul.

I have sought out so many different man to replace you but nothing could ever fill this cracked heart. Had I known sooner I would have just held it tight and waited by myself rather that giving it away, now it even has slight cracks in its foundation. I doubt will even recognize it so everyday I try to mend it but how can I fix what is within.

I see that God filled it in with gold. I see my faultiness led me to be valuable.

I gather that in Him mending me, He also took the pleasure of putting a new purpose in my heart. I don’t know how and I don’t know why but here we are, together, for eternity.

Saving Private Noli

A friend, no actually more than that I think a sister. I have three sisters, all older than me but I still want a sister. Someone who will understand my love for food and hope for a better world — someone who can listen. I think that’s what I’d like the most
because to be honest I am quite lonely.

This loneliness is not the one that leads one down the alley into the arms of half-drunk stranger with a hairy chest. Its the still silence in my heart that ideally would like to bust out into laughter but not alone.

I had a friend once, she chased sunsets all the way to the edge of the world and started a brand new chapter without me in it and I can’t really say she left me.
Sometimes I feel as though its a deep cut to the heart that just wont heal, but most days I know I give the thought too much credit.Creator God must have made it like this
for a reason.

I have pondered and wondered about what went wrong. It was probably something I said
or did. I remember sitting on a bench and attempting to map out our lives together, talking till the wee hours of the night about things that have come to reality now. I try to trace back where we lost each other but I know its most likely that you lost me first cs I never was there, hey.

I was always knee-deep in my thoughts, judging and trying to figure out things that are still a mystery to this day. Fighting thoughts, fighting myself. Crying out for some kind of exit spell that would help me to become a “normal child”. How could I when I had so much pain buried within me? I tried to change myself to become upright. I covered up my anxieties with nude lip-color and thick mascara, wondering am I really beautiful? When I look at my reflection I see sparkles of light and shimmering sunsets that you chased how come you left me behind?

It is strange this turmoil in my heart. I try to fight it, but I wind up in a taxi heading southward chasing a figment of my imagination that I created when I was nine years old. The sister that held my hand when I wanted to runaway from home and begged me to stay. The girl who who whispers in my ear everyday, without fail “Noli, its really OK to fail.”

That friend I see today in the people beside me, the one’s that left the crowd with me and strives to created a better tomorrow for other girls cs I mean what is the point of gaining all the sunsets if you lose yourself — if you lose your hope?

Now to make new friends with myself first. I want to look in the mirror, see the twinkle in my eyes and say: “I am really glad you exist, I am really glad I get to do life with you.”